


Debt

by ricketyjukeboxer



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Dark, Gen, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5511923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricketyjukeboxer/pseuds/ricketyjukeboxer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus finds himself in the hands of a cruel, all too familiar captor at the end of the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debt

Severus Snape listened to the sound of raspy, gasping breath for 10 minutes before he realized it was his own. He'd begun to wonder when the poor creature clutching for oxygen would just give up and die. Slow, sick awareness roused him upright, the strain of his lungs making the movement nearly impossible. He was on his knees.

Memory was the last of his faculties to return to him. In its place were slithering bands of light, twisting along the fringes of his brain. It'd happened last night; he was certain he hadn't been in this place for very long. Surely, the weight of the atmosphere would have killed him by now if that was the case. It pressed in on him from all sides. The ground may as well have been the ocean floor, and the air he was breathing, the salty sting of sea water inhaled. It was crushing him. The dim, inconstant glow of candle flame came from all directions, and as Severus's eyes rolled in their sockets, they gathered enough to tell him he was in a cell.

"He's awake."

Snape's head snapped too fast and the room diminished into waves within waves of brown and gray. It had been longer than one evening, he knew that now. There was something scratching at the back of his mind. When he tried to focus on it, it faded. Ghostly memories stayed on the outskirts of his vision.

"I'll see him now then." The second voice was familiar, but felt wrong against Snape's palate, like a potion that was missing an ingredient, or that had been left out too long and spoiled. When the door swung open, he'd been expecting the messy black hair, the clear green eyes, and the lightening bolt pink on the pale skin. What he hadn't been expecting was the smooth angled jaw, the gaunt mature features, or the age that ached visibly like an improperly mended wound in Harry Potter's eyes. 

Yes, it had been far longer than just one night; it had been years. The sight of the boy tore a hole through his mental block and recollections seeped out. Snape could feel them dripping slowly down the side of his face. When he lifted his hand to catch them, it came away smeared black in the low light. The sight of it brought the metallic taste of blood to his mouth. He'd been bleeding. He was leaking out of himself. 

"Such an empire, Professor. You really were fighting for the wrong side." Harry's words fell dryly, the wicked crackle of things long dead. A rich silence rose up between them, and Snape felt the weight of Potter's gaze without looking at him. It seemed ridiculous to the man, how he wasn't sure now if days were passing between them as they waited for someone to speak. Finally, Harry's voice came again, and in the eternity span it had moistened, the dry parts of himself falling away to reveal life still. "We all were."

"You've certainly changed your tune, Potter. Not the hero of our tale anymore?" Of all things he'd lost over time, the strength of his voice hadn't been one of them. It didn't surprise him; he'd been focusing all of his energy on it since the boy walked into the room. Hadn't it always given him power before? He may not have been able to remember how he'd come to this place, but he could clearly recall the fear, thinly veiled behind that first year's eyes.

"Dumbledore's dead. He was your hero. The rest of us were pawns." Instead of hearing Potter's footsteps grow nearer, Snape felt them. They matched the thrum of power that seemed to emanate from every corner of the cell. No one was searching for him. Hope whipped away, the diaspora of dawn shattering into a burning afternoon. Dumbledore was dead.

"How exceptionally predictable of you. You're father would be proud." Old venom spilled over his tongue.

Something shifted in Harry at the mention of James Potter, something that turned the tide of the exchange. Still, the echo of recollection at the back of Snape's mind rang. This had been done before. He could taste the words on his breath before he uttered them. Harry was standing in front of him now.

"You seem so intent to bring him up. Can't stop thinking of him? Neither can I. Do you know what a miserable existence it is for a boy to pay for his father's sins? Everyone made me pay for him, but you seemed the most pleased about it." The cold green eyes didn't give a moment's consideration. "Well," Harry's voice went low and strangely lyrical as he pushed his lips closer to Snape's ear. The man didn't flinch. "...I'm here to collect payment for your sins now."

Snape could not remember a time when the boy's voice had been filled with more conviction. It ran with the clear shrill tone of hate and he clenched his jaw as the tendrils of a different, far more sinister voice echoed briefly against the stones that surrounded them.

Bitter satisfaction swelled the quick beating heart of Severus Snape. It was enough to angle his chin upward. Surly Potter would recall the chill of that expression, the one that whispered victory. Snape had been right. Sweet, blind valor had lead to nothing more than a shattering fall, and he took pleasure in knowing that, even as Harry stood vicious and proud before him, he lay broken and bleeding beneath the weight of his own circumstances. The seed of anger had flourished into richly poisonous wrath. And Severus was there to see it, and bear it all. He remembered now. The first waves of Crucio ripped from him the realization that this had been played out many times before, and would be played out many times again. They would dance like this until one of them was satisfied with the release of revenge, or the release of breath.


End file.
